Sherlock: The Blind Banker
by jam-kittens-rage
Summary: Basically the second episode of Sherlock, but with my own characters added to the madness.
1. Chapter 1 - The Row

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes! Credit for transcript goes to Ariane DeVere - LiveJournal.****_

Chapter 1

Liza wakes up to loud noises coming from downstairs. She figured it was Sherlock, just being his noisy self. She then hears what sounds like a struggle between Sherlock and… someone else. She slowly gets up and opens her bedroom door. She heads downstairs to see Sherlock and a heavily robed man fighting. She stands out of the way as the struggle continues. She lets it go for a little while longer as the robed man swings his sword again at Sherlock as he ducks. He then straightens up and points at Liza, who has now moved almost directly behind the man.

"Look!" Sherlock shouts. The man half-turns and Sherlock takes this opportunity to swing one hell of an uppercut to the man's chin. The man collapses, unconscious, into Sherlock's armchair. Sherlock straightens up and immediately dusts himself off, looking down at the unconscious man with distain. Liza stares at him. Sherlock looks at her. "Thank you for the distraction." She looks at him, confused.

"Um… sure." She looks down at the man lying in the middle of the living room. "What are you gonna do with him?"

"Not sure." Sherlock says. Liza nods and looks around.

"Where's John?"

"He went to get the shopping."

"Ah." There was a moment of silence and Sherlock grabs the man's hands.

"Ill grab the hands, you get the feet." Liza stares at him for a moment, but shrugs and decides to go with it. She grabs his feet and slowly, they start carrying the man out the door. "Hopefully this won't attract too much attention." Sherlock says. Liza laughs and continues out the door, body in tow.

* * *

><p>Later, Sherlock and Liza are sitting calmly in the living room, Sherlock reading a book and Liza sitting upside down on the couch playing with something on her phone. John walks up the stairs and stops just inside the room and looks around like he suspects that something happened when he was gone, but he wasn't sure what.<p>

"You took your time." Sherlock said, not looking up.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping." Liza stops with her phone and looks at John, still upside down as Sherlock looks at John indignantly over the top of his book.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine." John says tetchily. Sherlock lowers his book a little.

"You… you had a row with a machine?"  
>"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" Sherlock nods towards the kitchen while holding back an amused smile.<p>

"Take my card." John walks to the kitchen, but stops and turns to look at Sherlock.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've both been sitting there all morning. You've not moved since I left." Sherlock briefly flashes back to where he had ducked under the sword the man had swung at him. He tries to be nonchalant and turns the page in his book while John picks up Sherlock's wallet and rummages through it. "And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

"Not interested." Sherlock says as he grabs a piece of paper to use as a bookmark and snaps the book shut. He looks down to see the man's sword still lying in view under his chair. He quickly puts his foot down and slides it further under the chair. "I sent them a message." Sherlock said firmly. He briefly flashes back to when he knocked the man out. John pulls out Sherlock's card, but notices the gauge on the table from when the man had pinned down Sherlock with his sword. He rubs it with his finger.

"Ugh. Holmes." He whispers. He looks at Sherlock and tuts pointedly. Sherlock innocently shakes his head and John turns and walks down the stairs, leaving the room. Sherlock immediately smirks.

John returns with the shopping, staggering up the stairs with several bags.

"Don't worry about me." John says sarcastically. Sherlock is just sitting at the dining table with his hands folded in front of his mouth, reading an email on a laptop. John sighs heavily and carries the bags to the kitchen and dumps them on the table. John turns and looks around. "Where's Liza?"

"Went to a movie with a 'friend'." He replies, moving his fingers in an air-quote around the word friend.

"What friend?"

"Lestrade's son." John stops.

"A boy?"

"Mhm…"

"You let her go to a movie. Alone. With a _boy_?" Sherlock sighs and looks at John.

"Its Lestrade's son. What's there to worry about?" John pauses.

"Let me spell it out for you. Liza; girl. Lestrade's son; boy. Boy, girl, dark room, unsupervised?" Sherlock continues staring at the screen. "You've no idea what I'm saying, do you?" Sherlock grunts and John sighs. "Never mind…" John looks at Sherlock and frowns. "Is that my computer?" Sherlock starts to type.

"Of course."

"What?!"

"Mine was in the bedroom."

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?" Sherlock doesn't reply. "Its password protected!" John says indignantly.

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He looks up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you." John says annoyed. He walks over and slams the lid down and Sherlock removes his fingers, just in time. He takes the laptop across the room and puts it on the floor next to his armchair and sits down. Sherlock puts his hands together and places them in front of his mouth and props his elbows on the table. John pick up a pile of envelopes from the small table beside his chair and frowns. "Oh." He says as he flips through them. He sees one that looks like a bill and shakes his head. "Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull." John puts the envelopes back on the table and looks at Sherlock for a moment, then glances at the bills again and leans forward awkwardly.

"Listen, um…" Just then, Liza walks in. John stops and looks at her. She looks at him.

"Hey, you're back. How's the shopping?" She shuts the door behind her and looks at John. He's staring blankly at her. "What?"

"How'd it go at the movie?"

"Fine." Liza says suspiciously. There was a pause and Liza realizes what he's talking about and looks at Sherlock exasperatedly. "You told him, didn't you?" Sherlock merely shrugs. Liza sighs and looks back at John. "Oliver's just a friend, John. A good friend who wanted to see a movie and invited me to come along." John continued to look at her accusingly. "Nothing happened, okay?!" John's gaze continues. "Ugh. Since when did I inherit a dad?!" She says and stalks off to her room. John smirks and turns to sit normally in his chair.

"Mission accomplished." He turns back to Sherlock, who's still staring into nowhere. He clears his throat and leans forward again. "So, if you'd be able to lend me some…" He stops. "Sherlock, are you listening?" Without turning around, Sherlock replies.

"I need to go to the bank." He gets up and heads downstairs, grabbing his coat off the hook as he goes. John frowns, gets up, and yells for Liza to follow. She comes out and follows John down the stairs as they try to catch up to Sherlock.

_**Well, here it is! First chapter of TBB! I hope you liked the little scene I added at the end where John finds out about Liza and Lestrade's son. A little backstory on the "little Lestrade". His name is Oliver and he's going to be in more and more scenes as the story continues. He's about the same age as Liza is, with a slight age difference (Oliver is only a couple of months older than Liza). Don't forget to review!**_


	2. Chapter 2 - The Painting

**_**I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!**_**

Chapter 2

Soon, they arrive at the entrance of the bank. Sherlock leads them through revolving glass doors to the inside of the bank. John looks around, impressed at the foyer, while Liza catches up to Sherlock.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

"You'll see."

"Another case?" He pauses.

"Yes." She smiles and follows him onto the escalator. Sherlock observes his surroundings, especially the security systems, which require cards to be swiped across an electronic reader to be able to pass through glass barrier gates. They reach the top of the escalator and Sherlock walks over to the reception desk. "Sherlock Holmes."

Later, they're being shown into Sebastian Wilkes' office as he walks in and grins at Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes." He says.

"Sebastian." He and Sherlock shake hands and Sebastian takes Sherlock's hand into both of his. Liza looks at John weirdly and he just shrugs.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looks at him, with marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian looks at John and me.

"This is my _friend_, John Watson and my niece, Liza."

"Friend?"

"Colleague." John replies.

"Right." They shake hands and Sebastian looks at John curiously. "Right." He briefly looks at Sherlock as if to say, 'Didn't think you had a _friend_'. He grins unpleasantly and scratches his neck. Sherlock's gaze, though, slips onto his watch. Sebastian turns away as John purses his lips, almost in dislike of the man. "Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?"

"Another chair?" Liza cuts in. Sebastian smiles.

"Of course." He nods to his secretary and she brings in another chair.

"Thank you." Liza says. She drags it over by Sherlock and sits down, contentedly and Sebastian sits down at his desk.

"So, you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot." Sherlock starts.

"Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" John and Liza frown in confusion, but Sebastian just points and laughs at Sherlock.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He looks at John. "We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock defends quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've seen him do it." John replies.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him" Sherlock turns away and looks down, his face momentarily filling with pain. "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed." Sherlock says quietly.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips in a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, but he wasn't done talking. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan." Sebastian says smugly and John smiles.

"No, I…"

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sebastian interrupts. Sherlock simply looks at him for a moment before speaking.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside. _She_ told me." John and Liza both frown and look at him, confused. Sebastian claps his hands together and becomes more serious.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in." He leads them over towards a different door. "Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman. The rooms been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asks.

"Nothing. Just left a little message." Sebastian holds his security card on the reader by the door, unlocking it. They see hanging on a white wall behind a large desk a painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad. On the wall to the left of the portrait, is what looks like a sprayed graffiti 'tag' in the yellow paint. It looks sort of like the number 8, but with the top of the number left open. Above it is a horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait is another horizontal straight line. Sebastian leads them towards the desk and steps aside to let Sherlock observe the wall. John moves to the other side of Sebastian and Liza follows as John looks at Sherlock expectantly as he concentrates on the graffiti. Sometime later, they are back in Sebastian's office, watching security footage of the office from the previous night. "Sixty seconds apart." Sebastian says as he flicks back and forth between the still taken at 23:34:01 that shows the paint on the wall and a minute earlier at 23:33:01, when there's no paint on the wall. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."  
>"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asks.<p>

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

* * *

><p>Back in the reception area, Sebastian shows them a screen on a computer that has a layout of the trading floor and the offices that surround it. Each door has a light against it that shows its security status.<p>

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

"That door didn't open last night." Sherlock observes.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." He reaches into his breast pocket and takes out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."  
>"I don't <em>need<em> an incentive, Sebastian." Sherlock says and walks away. John and Liza both watch him go, and John turns to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously." Liza laughs and plays along.

"Yeah. Let me take care of that for you." She grabs the cheque from him and looks at it. You can almost see the color fade from her face. John snatches it from her.

"Right. You can't go two seconds without losing your phone. I'll just look after that for him." Liza frowns and starts to feel her jeans. She laughs nervously.

"Uhm… anyone see where I put my phone last?" She dashes off towards Sebastian's office as John rolls his eyes. He looks at the cheque and shakes his head in disbelief that that's only the advance.

Sherlock returns to Sir William's office and takes photographs with his mobile phone of the graffiti. He takes several pictures and turns around, the symbols still floating around his mind's eye. He looks to his right to see a window with an impressive view of the Swiss Re Tower. He frowns and looks away for a moment and walks over to the windows and pulls open the blinds to reveal a door to a small balcony. He opens the door and walks out onto the balcony, observing the new of London before looking down at the long drop below him. He looks along the balcony, thoughtfully bits his lip, and heads back inside. Later, Liza finds herself grinning as she watches Sherlock dance around the trading floor. He ducks behind a desk and slowly rises upright, staring at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. He ducks sideways and hurries across the floor to the amusement of several workers and Liza. She continues to watch him as he scampers every which way to get different perspectives of the doorway. He continues dancing across the floor and suddenly twirls around a column and backs up towards a different office and stops. He wiggles about, eyes still fixed on Sir William's office, and goes into the office and heads over to the other side of someone's desk. There, he has a clear view of the top of the painting with the eyes crossed off with yellow paint. He, again, dances across the room to his previous position. This confirms that this is the only part of the floor that the portrait can be seen from. He heads out the door, looking for some sort of identification, and finds a name plate – Edward Van Coon. He slides it out of the holder and heads out.

Afterwards, Sherlock leads John and Liza towards the escalators.

"Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him." John says and Sherlock just smiles. "How _did_ you know?"  
>"Did you see his watch?"<p>

"His watch?"

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice, but he didn't alter it."  
>"Within a month? How'd you get that part?"<p>

"New Breitling. Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know, thanks.

"Hmm?"  
>"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…" Sherlock trails off, allowing John to finish the sentence.<p>

"…they'll lead us to the person who sent it." John finishes.  
>"Obvious."<p>

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"  
>"Pillars." Liza stops.<p>

"What?" She and John ask at the same time.

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" Sherlock continues talking as he leads John and Liza out the revolving doors and out into the street.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He holds up the name card to show John and Liza. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." He spots something. "Taxi!"

_**Sorry about the long wait for the update. Havent had a chance to update much. Anyways, heres the second chapter. Hope you like it so far. I havent gotten much feedback from people on how it is, so im assuming no one has any problems with it. Well, let me know how i did. :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Locked Doors

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!****_

Chapter 3

They arrive in front of a block of flats where they pile out of the cab and walk up to the door buzzers on the side of the building. Sherlock presses the button to Van Coon's flat and looks at the security camera above the buzzers. He waits a couple seconds before pressing it again. No answer.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John asks. Sherlock looks at the buzzers and then backs up and observes the block of flats. Liza keeps observing the buzzers.

"Just moved in." She says, pointing to the buzzer above Van Coon's. Sherlock looks back and John frowns.

"What?" They say in unison.

"The one above it has a new label." She points to the buzzer with the name 'Wintle' hand-written on it.

"Could have just replaced it." John offers. Sherlock presses the buzzer.

"No-one ever does that." Then a woman's voice comes over the intercom.

"Hello?" Sherlock turns to the cameral and smiles brightly.

"Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met." He says as he grins into the camera.

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in." Liza turns to John with an 'I told you so' look. John just rolls his eyes as Sherlock continues his act."

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in the flat." He says grimacing.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?" Liza looks confused at Sherlock.

"What?"

* * *

><p>As Sherlock flirts his way into Ms. Wintles' flat, John and Liza take the long way. Sherlock stands on Ms. Wintles' balcony, looks down below, and climbs over the side and drops down to the balcony outside Van Coon's flat. He, once again, looks over the edge, turns, and reaches for the door handle, which is luckily unlocked. He goes inside and walks through the living room, glancing at things on his way through the flat. He goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge, only to find it full of champagne bottles. The door of the flat buzzes as John yells to Sherlock from the other side.<p>

"Sherlock. Sherlock, are you okay?"

"See any bodies?" Liza asks. John elbows her.

"Not so loud." He scolds. Meanwhile, Sherlock observes the bathroom, shuts the door, and walks over to a larger door that's closed. He tries the handle, but it's locked. "Yeah, anytime you feel like letting us in." John says.

Sherlock turns to the side and shoulder-charges the door which bursts open. He walks inside and finds a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed. He was dead. He sees a pistol on the floor and a small bullet hole on the right temple of the man's head.

Later, the police arrive and a photographer is taking pictures of Van Coon's body on the bed. A forensics officer is seen dusting for prints on a mirror. Sherlock had removed his coat and was then putting on latex gloves in the bedroom as John and Liza watch.

"Told you there was a body." Liza says and John ignored the comment.

"D'you think he'd lost a _lot_ of money? I mean suicide is pretty common among city boys."

"We don't know that it _was_ suicide."

"I doubt it…" Liza mumbles.

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony." Sherlock squats down by the suitcase on the floor by the bed. Its lid is open and he observes its contents.

"Been away for three days, judging by the laundry." He looks closely and sees an indentation in the clothes inside the case. He straightens up and looks at John. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it."

"Problem?"

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear." Sherlock walks to the foot of the bed.

"Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"It could be a code." Liza jumped in.

"Obviously." He looks carefully at his legs – or maybe his shoes – and moves up and carefully opens the man's jacket and looks through the inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use email?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering."

"Oh good. You follow."  
>"No." Sherlock throws him a look and Liza laughs. He moves on to examine Van Coon's hands.<p>

"What kind of message would everyone try to avoid?" John frowns in confusion.

"A threat." Liza adds. Sherlock gently pulls out an origami flower from Van Coon's mouth. He looks at Liza.

"Exactly." Just then, there was a man's voice coming from outside the bedroom.

"Bag this up, will you… and see if you can get prints off this glass." The man – a very _young_ man – walks into the bedroom. Sherlock turns and walks towards him.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." He offers his hand to him but the man puts his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." Sherlock lowers his hand and hands him the evidence bag.

"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. _I'm_ in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Sherlock looks at him in surprise and looks at John with the same amount of surprise. Dimmock walks out of the room and they follow. He hands over the bag to one of the forensics officers. "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John agrees. Sherlock takes off his gloves and turns to him.

"Wrong. It's one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts." He turns to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?"

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." Liza jumped in. Sherlock demonstrates his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his temple on the right side of his head with his left hand.

"Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?"  
>"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around his flat." He turns to Liza. She immediately catches on and points to the table next to the sofa.<p>

"Coffee table is on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets; habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?" Sherlock smiles.

"No, I think you've covered it." John says tiredly.

"Oh, come on John. She's almost to the bottom of the list." He turns back to Liza. "Go on." Liza smiles and points towards the kitchen.

"There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." Sherlock smiles proudly and turns to Dimmock.

"It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the _right_ side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. _Only_ explanation of _all_ the facts."

"But the gun: why…"

"He was _waiting_ for the killer. He'd been threatened." Sherlock interrupts. He walks away and begins to put on his scarf, coat, and gloves.

"What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning." John explained.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in."

"And the bullet?" Dimmock asks.

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of _that_?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock says condescendingly as he dramatically puts his hand into his glove. He turns and walks out, Liza on his tail. John looks at Dimmock and points apologetically towards Sherlock and follows him out.

* * *

><p>They arrive at a restaurant where Sebastian is having lunch with either clients or work colleagues.<p>

"… and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!"

"Or can it?" Liza cuts in as they make their way towards his table. She looks suspiciously at Sebastian, who looks up at her with confusion. Sherlock just rolls his eyes.

"It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant." Sherlock started.

"I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed."

"What?"

"Van Coon. The police are at his flat." John adds.

"Killed?" Sebastian asks shocked.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" Sherlock answers sarcastically. Sebastian puts down his glass of water and nervously runs a finger through the inside of his shirt collar.

Liza patiently waits outside the men's bathroom while Sherlock and John continue questioning Sebastian.

"Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so…" Sebastian explains while washing his hands.

"… you gave him the Hong Kong accounts." John continues. Sebastian grabs a towel and starts drying them off.

"Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"Who'd wanna kill him?" John asks.

"We all make enemies."

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple." Sebastian's phone beeps.

"Not usually. 'Scuse me." He takes out his phone and looks at the message. "It's my Chairman. The police have been on him. Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide."

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered." Sherlock cut in.

"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that."

"Seb." Sherlock says sternly.

"… and neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." Sebastian walks away. John waits until he leaves and turns to Sherlock.

"I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards." They walk out and Liza starts with her questions.

"So? What'd he say? Did he know anything?" Sherlock continues walking, ignoring Liza's questions. John looks at her and waves her along. She sighs dramatically. "You guys never tell me anything…"

* * *

><p>Back at 221B, Sherlock has the printed photographs of the graffiti on Sir William's portrait stuck up around the mirror above the fireplace. He sits on a chair with his back to the dining table, carefully studying them. John walks in and drops his jacket onto his chair.<p>

"I said, "Could you pass me a pen?"" Sherlock says without taking his focus off of the pictures. John looks around the room, curious as to who he was talking to.

"What? When?"

"Bout an hour ago." John sighs.

"Didn't notice id gone out, then?" He picks up a pen from the table next to his chair and without looking, tosses in in Sherlock's direction. He catches it, still not looking away from the pictures. "And what about Liza? She's here, isn't she?"

"She's out." John looks at him.

"Out? Out where?" Sherlock simply shrugs. John sighs and shakes his head. Not wanting to go any further on the subject, he walks over to the mirror and looks at the pictures. "Well, I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?"

"It's great. She's great." John says absently.

"Who?" John looks at him.

"The job."

""She"?"

"…It." Sherlock looks suspiciously at him for a moment and jerks his head to the right.

"Here, have a look."

"Hmm?" John walks over and looks at the open webpage on the computer. There's an article with the headline, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for the police". Next to the paragraph is a picture of a bald man and the article starts: _An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesperson said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in…_

"The intruder who can walk through walls." John says.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon." John straightens up and looks at Sherlock.

"God. You think…"

"He's killed another one."

_**Dun, dun, dunnn! Hey everyone! Im back! Sorry it took so long. In the meantime, i want to bring attention to a couple of the reviews i got. **_

_**Missy Chrisy - Thank you for your review! I really appreciate the feedback. If you've noticed, i took your suggestion in this chapter. Hope you like it! :)**_

_**Lily - Thanks for your review! I love, love, love the detail of your review. I tried to sneak in a little of Liza in there where she deduced her surroundings like Sherlock would do. Hope you liked it. I am also going to feature some more of your suggestions in later chapters. Again, i really, really appreciate your review. :)**_

_**And to anyone else. If there's anything else i could do to make the story more enjoyable, let me know. :) I really appreciate suggestions/comments. Thanks again! :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 - The Search for 'Spiderman'

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!****_

Chapter 4

At Lukis' flat, Sherlock ducks under police tape at the bottom of the stairs and walks upstairs, followed by Dimmock, John, and Liza. Looking at everything, he walks into the living room. There's an empty suitcase on the floor and a black origami flower nearby, similar to the one Sherlock had pulled from Van Coon's mouth. Books are scattered on the desk, bookshelf, and the floor, along with several newspapers. He walks to the kitchen area and looks out the window at the nearby buildings. As he pushes the curtains back for a better look, he smirks.

"Four floors up. _That's_ why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable." He walks to the middle of the room. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." He turns towards the stairs and sees a skylight above the landing.

"I don't understand." Dimmock says. Sherlock goes onto the landing. Liza follows.

"The killer can climb…" She says quietly. Sherlock nods his head and hops up on something to get closer to the skylight.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock asks.

"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock replies as he unhooks the latch and pushes the window up. "That's how he got in." Sherlock adds quietly.

"What?!"

"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

"You're not serious! Like Spiderman?!"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon." Dimmock laughs in disbelief.

"Oh, ho-hold on!"

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." He steps down and looks around. "We have to find out what connects these two men." He looks over to a pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. He jumps down a few stairs, with Liza in tow, and picks up a book. He opens the front page to reveal that it had been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Liza looks over his shoulder. "Field trip!" She says quietly. He rolls his eyes and slams the book shut. He keeps it with him as he heads down the stairs.

* * *

><p>After the taxi ride, they arrive at West Kensington Library. They hop on an escalator and Sherlock finds his way to the aisle where Lukis' book had come from.<p>

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." He checks the reference number on the bottom of the books spine and goes to the place along the shelves and starts to pull out books and examine them. John and Liza join in. Almost immediately, John finds something.

"Sherlock." Sherlock turns and walks over to him and grabs a handful (a huge one if I do say so myself *faints*) of books. He pulls out another huge handful of books with the other hand to reveal the two spray-painted symbols on the back of the shelf that matched the ones in Sir William Shad's office. Back at 221B, photos of the shelf had been added to the collection of photos around the mirror in the living room. Sherlock, John, and Liza all stand at the fireplace looking at the pictures.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home." John adds.

"Later that night, he dies too." Liza adds in as well.

"_Why_ did they die, Sherlock?" John asks softly. Sherlock runs his fingers over the picture of the graffiti on the portrait from the bank.

"Only the cipher can tell us." He taps his finger against the photo thoughtfully as his expression sharpens.

"Looks like someone has an idea." Liza sing-songed.

* * *

><p>Later, the boys and Liza walk through the centre of Trafalgar Square, heading towards the National Gallery.<p>

"The worlds run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, okay, but…"

"…but it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Where are we headed?"

"I need to ask some advice."

"What?! Sorry?!" Sherlock looks at him darkly as John smiles in disbelief.

"You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again."

"You need advice?"

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert." Liza gasps.

"You mean we're going to see…?" She pauses and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Liza, this primary school crush of yours has to stop."

"Crush? On who?" John asks. Liza grins.

"You'll see." She starts walking faster and Sherlock looks at John and rolls his eyes. John smiles and they head towards the entrance to the gallery. They then go around to the rear of the building where a young man has spray-stenciled onto a grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle with both his hands. The policeman has a pig's snout instead of a human nose. There's a large canvas bag at his feet and he is holding spray cans in each hand. He had sprayed his tag, "RAZ" below the painting and was making the finishing touches to his 'artwork'. Unperturbed, he continues spraying as they walk up to him, Liza still grinning like an idiot.

"Part of a new exhibition." 'Raz' says.

"Interesting." Sherlock says disinterestedly.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." He says chuckling.

"Catchy." John comments.

"Cool." Liza says dreamily.

"Hey, you brought Liza with you. How ya doin, love?" Raz replies. Liza just about falls over and looks at Sherlock.

"He knows my name!" She whispers excitedly. He rolls his eyes.

"Well of course he does, you make it a point to mention it every chance you get." She smacks him on the arm.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." He stops spraying and looks at Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?" Sherlock takes his phone out of his coat pocket and holds it out to Raz. He turns around and tosses a spray can at John. He instinctively catches it and looks at Sherlock and Raz, bewildered. Raz takes Sherlock's phone and scrolls through the pictures of the yellow ciphers from Sir William's office and the library.

"Know the author." Sherlock asks.

"Recognize the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc." Liza turns to John.

"He's so smart." He rolls his eyes and turns back to the conversation.

"What about the symbols: d'you recognize them?" Raz squints at the pictures.

"Not even sure it's a proper language." John looks at Liza.

"Yeah, he's a real Albert Einstein…" She smacks him on the arm.

"Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?"

"I'll ask around."

"Somebody _must_ know something about it."

"Oi!" A voice calls out. They look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock grabs the phone back from Raz and runs in the opposite direction with Liza behind him. Raz drops his spray can, kicks the bag towards John, and runs. John turns towards the officers. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This gallery is a listed public building."

"No, no, wait, wait. It's not _me_ who painted that." He holds up the can. "I was just holding this for…" He turns and, for the first time, realizes he's been abandoned. He sighs quietly as the officer kicks open the bag, only to reveal more spray cans inside. He looks pointedly at John.

"Bit of an enthusiast, are we?" John stares at them blankly and turns to do the same with the graffiti on the door, contemplating how he was going to explain his way out of this.

_**Poor John. Well, it is his fault for just standing there anyways. So, how'd you like it? I thought id give Liza a little schoolgirl crush on Raz, just to spice things up a bit. Shes also very violent in this chapter. Anyways, loved the reviews on the last chapter. Keep em coming! I love to hear from you guys. :)**_


	5. Chapter 5 - Cracking the Code

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!****_

Chapter 5

Back at 221B, Sherlock stands at the fireplace looking at the pictures that are almost now covering the mirror because of the added pictures of ciphers and pictograms. He lowers his head and consults a book while Liza practices playing the piano Sherlock had bought for her on her 13th birthday. The sound of the door slamming, apparently not disturbing Sherlock and Liza, signals John's return. He immediately walks into the living room, the door slam indicating he was not in a good mood.

"You've been a while." Sherlock says without turning around or looking up. John walks a few more steps into the room, shoulders rigid and fists clenched, another indication that he is not happy. He stops, blinking as he fights to hold back his anger, and turns to Sherlock.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" He says tightly. He starts pacing with a half-smile half-grimace on his face. "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock says absently, not really hearing what he said. Meanwhile, Liza stopped practicing and was sitting back and enjoying the show, wishing she had some popcorn.

"Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They're givin' me an ASBO!" John says angrily, putting on a rough London accent.

"Good. Fine." Sherlock replies, still not paying attention.

"You wanna tell your little 'boyfriend' he's welcome to go and own up any time." He says angrily at Liza. She was about to reply when Sherlock suddenly slams the book shut.

"This symbol: I still can't place it." He turns and puts the book down, walks over to John, who's taking his jacket off, and puts it back onto his shoulders. "No, I need you to go to the police station…"

"Oi, oi, oi!" John says indignantly as Sherlock turns him around and pushes him towards the door.

"…ask about the journalist."

"Oh, Jesus!" John says exasperated. Sherlock grabs his own coat from behind the door.

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get a hold of his diary, or something that will tell us of his movements. C'mon, Liza." He says and heads down the stairs. Liza grabs her coat and follows them into the street. "Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." He then walks off down the street with Liza.

John sees a taxi rounding the corner and hails it. It pulls over and before John gets in, he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and sunglasses standing on the other side of the road taking a photograph, camera aimed in his direction. He bends down to the driver's window.

"Scotland Yard."

"Right." The driver replies. John gets into the back of the taxi and glances at the other side of the road again and sits down. There was no sign of the woman.

* * *

><p>At Shad Sanderson Bank, Sherlock and Liza stand waiting in Van Coon's office next to his P.A, Amanda, who's looking at an online calendar.<p>

"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team." She says.

"Can you print me up a copy?"

"Sure."

"What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?"

"Sorry. Bit of a gap." Amanda says looking at the screen. He looks at the calendar and sees no entries for Monday the 22nd. He looks away, frustrated. Amanda then realizes something.

"I have all his receipts."

* * *

><p><strong>New Scotland Yard<strong>

Dimmock stands at his desk, rummaging through a box of Lukis' possessions. John stands on the other side of the desk.

"Your friend…" Dimmock starts.

"Listen: whatever you say, I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"…he's an arrogant sod."

"Well, _that_ was mild! People say a lot worse than that." John says as Dimmock hands him a diary.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? The journalists' diary?" John takes it and quickly flicks through it. He opens to a page marked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC (Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport) to London LHR (London Heathrow Airport) on Zhuang Airlines.

* * *

><p><strong>Shad Sanderson Bank<strong>

Amanda has all of Van Coon's receipts spread out on her desk.

"What kind of boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?" Sherlock asks.

"Um, no. That's not a word id use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag." Sherlock kneels down on the floor to give himself a better view of the receipts. He takes off his gloves and notices a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion on the back of her desk.

"Like that hand cream? _He_ bout that for you, didn't he?" Amanda fiddles with a pin in her hair and looks at him in surprise. He shuffles through the paperwork and picks up a receipt from a taxi. Dated 22 March 2010, timed at 10:35, and worth £18.50. He shows it to Liza and hands it to Amanda. "Look at his one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

"That would get him to the office."

"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as…"

"The West End. I remember him saying." Liza finds a London Underground ticket with the same date on it, which was issued at "Picadilly". She hands it to Sherlock.

"Look at this." He takes it, reads it, and hands it to Amanda.

"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."

"So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?"

"Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator." Sherlock says, still going through the receipts.

"Delivering?" Amanda asks, confused.

"To somewhere near Piccadilly station. Dropped the package, delivered it, and then…" He finds another receipt, stands up, and looks at it. The receipt was from the Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano. "…stopped on his way. He got peckish."

* * *

><p>Sherlock and Liza set off and find the espresso bar. Sherlock talks to himself out loud as they walk past it.<p>

"So you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed _from_? Where did the taxi drop you…?" He spins around as he walks and bumps into someone coming from behind, who was also distracted. He looks and finds John, who's engrossed in Lukis' diary. Sherlock grunts as they collide and John looks at them surprised.

"Right." John says.

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information…" Sherlock says rapid fire.

"Sherlock…"

"…credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock…"

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but…"

"That shop over there." John interrupts pointing to the other side of the road. Sherlock looks at the shop, looks back at John, and frowns.

"How can you tell?"

"Lukis' diary." He replies, showing Sherlock the diary. "He was here too. He wrote down the address." He turns and heads over to the shop.

"Oh." Sherlock looks at Liza and she shrugs. He follows John into the shop. They enter the shop in Chinatown, which basically consists of decorative cats that are sitting up on their hind legs with one of the front paws raised and some of the other paws are waving back and forth. John politely greets the shopkeeper.

"Hello." They look at the items displayed as the shopkeeper lifts up one of the cats from the desk.

"You want lucky cat?"

"No, thanks. No." Sherlock and Liza look at him and smirk.

"Ten pound. Ten pound!" She persists.

"No." John smiles awkwardly.

"I think your wife, she will like!" Liza snorts.

"No, thank you." He walks over to a table that have small ceramic painted handle-less cups on it. Sherlock examines a rack of clay statues and Liza awkwardly looks around. John picks up one of the cups and turns it over to look at the price. His hand trembles as he sees a Chinese symbol on the bottom of the cup. It's the same upside-down eight with the line above it that was painted on the portrait and the library shelf. "Sherlock." Sherlock puts down the statue he was observing and walks over to him. Liza turns and walk over to him as well. "The label there."

"Yes, I see it."

"It's the same as the ciphers." Liza says. John clears his throat awkwardly and puts the cup back. Sherlock lifts his head as it starts to make sense to him.

* * *

><p>Afterwards, they left the shop and were walking down the street.<p>

"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library." Sherlock walks over to a greengrocer's that has some of its wares on display outside the shop. Some of the boxes had handwritten signs on them that were the names of the vegetables in Chinese and in English. Underneath that is the cost of that item in Hangzhou and English. He picks up various signs and checks the symbols. "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect." John, again, spots a sign with the same upside-down eight and slash above it with the English equivalent beneath it.

"It's a fifteen! What we thought was the artists tag – it's a number fifteen!"

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well." He shows John a price tag that has the line on top and "£1" written underneath it. Sherlock grins. "The Chinese number one, John."

"We've found it!" Sherlock walks away and Liza follows, grinning. John smiles and goes to follow him, but sees the woman who was taking a picture outside 221B, standing nearby. She's still wearing her sunglasses and has her camera pointed towards him and takes a picture. Someone walks in front of her, obscuring his view for a moment, and by the time the person passes, she was gone. John frowns and Liza stops and turns to him.

"You comin', Johnny-boy?" He looks at her and looks back to where the woman was. He turns back to Liza, nods, and walks after her.

* * *

><p>Shortly afterwards, they're staking out "The Lucky Cat" shop in a nearby restaurant. They're sat at a table by the window, Sherlock writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents down on a napkin. John is sat across from him, also writing notes. Liza sits on the side of the table facing the window, just watching the cars pass by on the road.<p>

"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?" John wonders out loud.

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases."

"And you don't mean duty free." A waitress brings over a plate of food and sets it down in front of John. "Thank you."

"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million…"

"…made it back in a week."

"Mmm."

"That's how he made such easy money."

"So, he was a smuggler?" Liza joins in. John nods and takes a bite of food.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect."

*Flashback of Van Coon paying a cab driver outside Lucky Cat and carrying it inside.*

"Business man…" Sherlock says.

"Mmm-hmm."

"…making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same…"

*Flashback of Lukis carrying the suitcase into the Lucky Cat and lifting it onto the desk.*

"…a journalist writing about China."

"Mmm."

"Both of them smuggled stuff out and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."

"But why did they die? I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?" Sherlock thoughtfully sits back for a moment and smiles as he realizes the answer.

"What if one of them was light-fingered?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Like, stealing? You think they stole something?" Liza asks, her curiosity peaked.

"Exactly. Stole something; something from the hoard."

"And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." Sherlock looks out the window at the shop and then looks up at the windows above it. He looks down on the ground level again and his gaze sharpens.

"Remind me…" He focuses on a Yellow Pages phone directory in a plastic wrapper that was left outside the door of the flat beside the Lucky Cat. "…when was the last time that it rained?" Not waiting for a reply, Sherlock stands up and leaves the restaurant. Liza looks apologetically at John and follows. He sits back in exasperation, but gets up and follows.

_**Reviews are like puppies! I love them! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 - Cracking the Code: Part 2

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!****_

Chapter 6

Now across the road, Sherlock bends down to observe the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper it's in is still wet and the top of it has been broken a little. He runs his fingers over the top of the exposed, wet pages.

"It's been here since Monday." He straitens up and presses the doorbell. He waits a few moments and looks to the right and heads off in that direction. There's an alleyway beside the flat that they walk down. "No one's been in the flat for at least three days."

"Could've gone on holiday." John offers.

"D'_you_ leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" As he reaches the end of the building, he looks up and sees a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head. He takes a run at it and jumps up and grabs the end, pulling it down until it touches the ground. He then runs up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reaches the top, the ladder swings back to its original horizontal position behind him.

"Sherlock!" John yells up at him. Liza looks back and runs down the alleyway back to the front of the building. John watches her and follows. Meanwhile, Sherlock climbs in through the window into the kitchen. He cries in muffled alarm as he almost knocks a vase of flowers off the table. He catches it before it hits the floor, looks down, and sees a wet patch on the rug in the exact place where the vase would have it if it had reached the floor. He straightens up and calls out the open window, not aware that John had gone.

"Someone has been here." He sets the vase back on the table, looks around, talking quietly to himself. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did." He looks around the kitchen and bends down to the washing machine and opens it. He takes out an unmentionable, sniffs it, and grimaces. Back downstairs, John rings the doorbell. Sherlock puts the delicate back into the machine, pushes the door closed, and reaches for a tea towel hanging nearby.

"D'you think maybe you could let us in this time?" John yells from outside. Sherlock feels the tea towel and moves on. Downstairs, John bends down to the letterbox, pushes it open, and yells through the gap. "Can you _not_ keep doing this, please?" Sherlock takes out a pint of milk from the fridge, takes off the lid, and sniffs the contents. Grimacing, he puts it back in the fridge and calls out to John.

"I'm not the first." The noise downstairs from passing traffic, John and Liza couldn't make out what he had said. John bends down to the letterbox he's still holding open.

"What?"

"Somebody's been in here before me!" Sherlock yells, louder this time.

"_What_ are you saying?" Sherlock takes out his pocket magnifier from his coat and looks down at a footprint on the rug.

"Size eight feet." Sherlock says, not as loudly. He pushes through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, examining the rug. "Small, but… athletic." Sherlock says to himself. He straightens up, looking thoughtful. Back outside, John lets go of the letterbox and straightens up, sighing.

"I'm wasting my breath."

"Welcome to my world…" Liza says exasperatedly. He walks a couple paces away from the door, glaring in annoyance, turns back, and rings the doorbell again. Inside, Sherlock has a framed photo of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl. He looks and sees a fresh handprint on the glass where someone has pressed their fingers on the image of the girl. Sherlock holds the magnifier over the fingerprints and gently rubs his gloved fingers over them to gauge the size.

"Small, strong hands." He says softly. He closes the magnifier and puts the photo down. "Our acrobat." He then frowns and looks around. "But why didn't he close the window when he left…?" He stops as he realizes the truth and rolls his eyes. "Oh, stupid. _Stupid_. Obvious. He's still here. "He looks around the room and sees a decorated free-standing folded screen shielding the bed. He puts his magnifier back into his pocket, carefully walks towards it, grabs the edge of the screen, and pulls it back. Two stuffed toys stare back at him in terror on the bedside table. Suddenly, a long white silk scarf wraps around his neck from behind and bundles him to the floor, strangling him. He grabs at the scarf, but the assailant – dressed in all black, continues to strangle him. Back downstairs, John again bends down to the letterbox and flips it open again.

"_Any_ time you want to include us." Sherlock, still struggling with his attacker, faintly calls out for him.

"John! John!" John straightens up again and shakes his head, frustrated.

"What if something's wrong? He hasn't responded in a while." Liza says, worried for her uncle.

"He's fine. He's just being stubborn." He starts to pace in irritation. ""No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with…"" He storms back up to the letterbox, opens it, and shouts through it. ""…my MASSIVE INTELLECT!"" He drops the letterbox again. Back upstairs, Sherlock is slowly losing consciousness. His struggles become weaker and weaker and his hands come off the scarf. At that, the attacker releases his grip. John angrily rings the doorbell again. As Sherlock still lies on the floor, eyes half closed, the attacker shoves something into his pocket, gets up, and runs off. Sherlock chokes and coughs as he tugs the scarf from around his neck off and rolls onto his front and get sup on his hands and knees. As the attacker disappears through the beaded curtain back into the kitchen, Sherlock groans and loosens the scarf, gasping as he gets back his breath. John looks at his watch in irritation and shakes his head, considering leaving with Liza. As his breathing gets better, Sherlock sits up on his heels, rummages through his pocket, and pulls out a black origami flower. He looks at it for a few seconds, stumbles to his feet, wobbles for a second as he pulls himself together, and heads downstairs. As he opens the door downstairs, John looks at him, makes an exasperated sound, and glares at him.

"The, uh, milks gone off and the washings starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago." Sherlock says, voice croaky.

"Somebody?" Sherlock nods.

"Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her." He looks down and bends to pick up something off the floor.

"But how, exactly?" Sherlock picks up a folded envelope. The back of it has something written on it.

SOO LIN

Please ring me

Tell me you're

OK

Andy

He unfolds the envelope and looks at the front of it. At the bottom, right hand corner are the words,

NATIONAL

ANTIQUITIES

MUSEUM

"Maybe we could start with this." Sherlock says, voice still croaky. He walks out, closes the door behind him, and heads down the road, John and Liza following close behind.

"You've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock says coughing.

* * *

><p>At the National Antiquities Museum, Sherlock paces around a display as he interviews 'Andy'.<p>

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum." Sherlock focuses on a glass case with some clay teapots displayed. Most are dull, but one is shiny. "This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." Sherlock looks at another case with jade figures and at a piece of artwork. "Just left her work unfinished." Sherlock turns to him.

"What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"

* * *

><p>Andy brings them down to the basement archive, turns the lights on, and leads them in.<p>

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here." He leads them to an open stack and turns a handle at the end to widen the gap. John stands behind him and looks into the stack, but Sherlock notices something more interesting in the shadows further in the room. As he walks closer to it, he notices something familiar. It's a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman (no, not that) with yellow paint sprayed across the front of it. A horizontal line goes across the eyes and on the body is an upside-down eight with the line above it. John, Andy, and Liza turn around to see what he found.

* * *

><p>Outside the museum, night has fallen when they finally come out.<p>

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao."

"If she's still alive."

"Way to be positive, Johnny boy." Liza says.

"Sherlock!" They all turn around as Raz runs over to them. Liza jumps and quickly runs her fingers through her hair.

"Oh, look who it is."

"Found something you'll like." He says to Sherlock. Liza gives a small wave.

"Hey…" She says as she twirls a piece of her hair with her fingers.

"How ya doin Liz? Good to see ya. Got something I want ya to see." He says as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and walks off. Sherlock frowns and slaps his arm. He removes it and Liza spins around and glares at him.

"What? There was a spider." He says innocently. Raz trots off and Sherlock follows, John and Liza follow a little more slowly. John smirks at Sherlock's actions before and Liza smacks his arm.

"Not funny."

* * *

><p>Shortly after, they walk across the Hungerford Bridge towards the south side of the river.<p>

"Tuesday morning, all you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours." John says to Raz.

"Forget about your court date." Sherlock says. They continue, unaware that the Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses is watching them.

* * *

><p>Raz leads them to the South Bank State Park. He leads them across the under-croft where a boy has done some sort of clever jump on his pushbike.<p>

"Dude, that was rad!" A girl shouts.

"If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message." Sherlock says. Raz points to an area on the heavily-graffitied walls.

"There. I spotted it earlier." Within the other graffiti, there are slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them are partially painted over already by other artist's tags and pictures.

"They _have_ been here." He directs his question at Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah."

"John, if we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence."

* * *

><p>John and Sherlock split up, Sherlock taking Liza. Sherlock walks along the end of a railway line and finds a spray can on the tracks.<p>

"So, Liza. I've been meaning to ask you. What is your obsession with Raz?" He squats down and picks up the can, puts the end of the flashlight in his mouth, and runs his thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle and sniffs it. Liza shifts at his question.

"Uhm… well. He's, um. Well, he's cute, funny, smart…"

"Smart…" Sherlock interrupts.

"Hey, not fair. You like him, don't you? If he wasn't smart, why would you go to him for information?"

"Because he's useful to me. Doesn't necessarily make him smart."

"Whatever. You don't even know him."

"Oh, like you do?" Liza scoffs.

"I know him better than you." Sherlock ignores her and continues to search. They walk past a wall with many posters glued to it. As he continues walking, one poster in particular catches his eye. He tears off the bottom corner of it and takes it with him as he continues on. Meanwhile, John walks through an underpass, looking closely at the graffiti and posters on it. Soon, he arrives at the railway lines. His flashlight points out splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and the rails. He then raises his light to a brick wall which is about fifteen feet wide. He steps back, mouth agape in surprise as he realizes that the entire wall is covered with large yellow Chinese symbols. He tracks down Sherlock and Liza who are looking at the side of a parked rail freight container.

"Answer your phone! I've been calling you! I've found it!" John says, trotting towards them. He turns around and the three of them run off back to the wall.

* * *

><p>Back at the wall, John leads them over to where he saw the graffiti and his mouth drops open in surprise, but for a different reason this time. The entire wall is blank.<p>

"You brought us out here to show us a wall?" Liza questions John sarcastically.

"It's been painted over!" Sherlock shines his flashlight around the area as John continues to stare in disbelief at the wall. "I don't understand. It-it was here…" He stumbles backwards. "…ten minutes ago. I _saw_ it. A whole load of graffiti!"

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." Sherlock says. He suddenly turns and grabs Johns head in both of his hands.

"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing…?"

"Shh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.

"No, what? Why? Why?" Sherlock lowers his hands to hold John by his upper arms. "What are you doing?" Sherlock starts to slowly spin them around on the spot, staring into Johns eyes intensely. Liza laughs at the sight of them.

"I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah."

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!"

"How _much_ can you remember it?"

"Well, don't worry…"

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate." Sherlock says still spinning them.

"Yeah, well, don't worry – I remember all of it."

"Really?" Sherlock asks disbelievingly.

"Yeah, well at least I _would_…" He pulls himself free of his grip. "…if I can get to my pockets!" He then rummages through his jacket pocket. "I took a photograph." He takes out his phone and pulls up a photo he had taken of the wall that shows the symbols clearly. He hands the phone to Sherlock. He takes it and looks almost embarrassed as John sighs and turns away.

* * *

><p>Back at 221B, the photo has been blown up into small sections and printed out and are stuck up on the mirror. The numerical value of each picture has been written on the pictures. Sherlock stands at the fireplace, looking at the pictures closely and spots a pattern.<p>

"Always in pairs, John." John sits at the dining table, his back to the fireplace with his head propped up in his hands. Sherlock's voice startles him awake. He blinks and turns his head, squinting at him.

"Hmm?"

"Numbers come with patterns." John gazes around the flat blankly.

"God, I need to sleep."

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?"

"No idea." John says tiredly.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day."

"Just twenty minutes." Sherlock then realizes something.

"Of course." He looks at the picture of the wall and smiles triumphantly. "Of _course_! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He runs his fingers under the symbols. "Somewhere in the code." He pulls three photographs off the wall and turns towards the door. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Oh, good." John replies tiredly, but follows him and Liza out the door.

* * *

><p>At the National Antiquities Museum, they are back with Andy in the same display room they were in earlier.<p>

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals."

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well." John adds.

"Look, I've tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away." Sherlock turns his head away in exasperation. His gaze fixes on the nearby glass case with the teapots.

"Tell me more about those teapots."

"Th-the teapots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them." Sherlock bends down closer to look at the shelf.

"Yesterday, only one of those pots were shining. Now there are two."

* * *

><p>Later, somewhere in the museum, fingers reach through the gaps of the large grating at the bottom of a wall and carefully pushes it outwards. Moments after, a shadow moves across the dimly lit room, and a hand reaches into a glass case to take out a dull teapot. It moves away. Afterwards, Soo Lin is in a darkly lit restoration room, pouring tea into the teapot on the desk in front of her. She picks up the lid and carefully strokes it around the rim. Meanwhile, a familiar curly headed silhouette appears on the other side of a window in the door. Unaware of this, she picks up the pot and pours some liquid into a pair of cups. She pours more tea into the tray with the cups in it, and swirls the teapot around to cover the outside with drips. A figure comes up behind her.<p>

"Fancy a biscuit with that?" Before he finishes the sentence, she gasps and turns to him, dropping the teapot. Sherlock reacts immediately and catches the teapot before it hits the ground. He looks at her. "Centuries old. Don't wanna break that." He straightens up and hands it to her. As she take sit, he reaches out and flips the light switch on the desk on and smiles at her. "Hello."

_**Hey all! Im back! Guess what?! I went to Comic-Con on Sunday. Guess what the date was? May the 4th. (May the "fourth" be with you!) Star wars day It was so much fun! The ultimate nerd day. And guess who i met?! MATT SMITH! Ahhh! It was so great! I got a picture with him. He smelt sooo good. It was amazing. Anyways, enough fangirling. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review! Love hearing from you! *You can also PM me if you have any suggestions/comments as well.***_


	7. Chapter 7 - Authors Note

_**Hey guys! Sorry this isn't a story update you were probably looking for. I just wanted to thank the people who are sticking with the story and I. I've been kind of busy with finals lately so I haven't had a lot of time to work on the story. But I have started another Avengers/Captain America fanfic because of my latest obsession with Sebastian Stan. (And no I haven't seen the new CA movie yet… :( I'm bummed cause it looks so good!) Anyways, I wanted to post a little piece of it for you guys to see if you liked it and wanted me to continue writing it. Since summer is pretty much here ill have more time to work on the Sherlock story too. So here's a little piece of it and I hope you like it. **_

Darkness. Darkness is all I see as I come to. I try to open my eyes, but it was no use. I slowly try to move. Anything. Nothing. As I become more aware, I feel restrained. Not just mentally, but physically. It was as if something was holding me down. I feel nothing but the cold, flat surface I am laying on. I hear voices. Too distant to make out words, but getting louder. Closer. I listen, trying to see if I recognize any of the voices, but to no avail. I feel myself start to panic.

'Calm down, Beth. Panicking is the worst thing you can do at this point.'

I try to relax. Suddenly, I feel a presence. Someone is standing near me, watching me. I hear heavy footsteps. A man's voice echoes off the walls.

"Sir. It's ready."

"Excellent." The man standing near me said. I could hear his smirk. "Send it in."

'Send what in?' I think. 'What are they going to do to me?'

_**There it is! I'm pretty proud of it. How do you like it? Should I continue with this? Let me know. You can review and/or PM me for suggestions/comments. Also, please bear with me on updates for this story. I'm so sorry to have deceived you with this A.N. Hope you can forgive me. :)**_


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